I had a dream where I was joined by arts finest.
Musicians, painters and poets. They were giving me all of their wisdom and
knowledge, the things I can grow old with.
My words, they said, are a combination of wonder and
greatness. Van Gogh and Mark Twain laughed with joy while Jay-Z made a statement.
Edgar Allan Poe was intrigued by the mystery, while Ray
Charles and Stevie Wonder wondered about the images they were envisioning.
Mozart and Beethoven raised a glass with Shakespeare and
Frieda Carlo. Richard Pryor, Abe Lincoln, and Malcolm X were singing karaoke
with Bono.
Kanye West and Jimi Hendrix pulled me to the side to
spill what they considered a thrill. They said my words spoke out to the kids
like a cross between Da Vinci and Lauren Hill. They intoxicate the mind like F.
Scot Fitzgerald and Stephen King, while the rhythm is notorious like Biggie’s
will.
I was praised by Johnny Cash and Michael Jackson. My work
is still in progress nothing fantastic has happened.
They said they celebrated my greatness, even though I am
just starting they could sense that I will make it.
I stood up on stage, with one final glance at the crowd.
I said all of my gratitude, spilling my heart out loud. With a glass held high,
I promised never to let my fellow greats down. I sipped on my drink, closed my
eyes, and gave one final bow…